


insanity is just a state of mind

by Torchicpox



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Anthropomorphic, Body Horror, Enemies to Lovers, Horror, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Madness, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25337575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchicpox/pseuds/Torchicpox
Summary: Ivan and Alfred are in love, but they are nations first and foremost. What follows is a tragedy, if not for Ivan's madness and Alfred's stubbornness.In the end, they're still in love.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	insanity is just a state of mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of an exploratory writing style

America is a young nation. He is so very young. And _yet_. When Russia shook his hand, he smelled blood and saw skeletons in America's eyes.

\---

Alfred F. Jones thinks of letting Ivan Braginski inside his head. And he is terrified of just how much he wants it.

\---

_The point is to break the enemy before the enemy breaks you._

Francis says, "In love, there is no winning or losing." But everything with Ivan has always been just that. See who would break first.

_I love, there is a winner and a loser._

\---

"You found me," Russia says, in the middle of his heart and smiling, lowly and secretive.

America wakes up with a jolt.

\---

"Will you miss me?" There's no part of him to miss. No part lovable or salvageable. He is a monster.

Alfred is going to miss him. _Damn it_.

\---

Russia's in his land. His land. His country. "Alfred," he intones serenely, too familiar - _too distant_ -. As if he knows what goes through his mind, Russia offers up a palm in supplication and corrects himself. "I'm sorry. America." America absolutely refuses to examine the twinge in his heart -or what could have been a heart were he a person and not a nation's bloody little avatar- or his person part wilting.

"What are you doing here?" He asks instead. Managing to sound derisive and angry and indignant, and feels how much it feels faked.

Russia merely continues to smile pleasantly. The one which heralded many a nations' demise in his ruthless, deceptively gentle hands.

"Tell me, America. Have you ever tire of being America?"

The mere thought is unthinkable. To stop being. To stop existing. To lose purpose. To gain freedom. _Be a person_.

Russia's large freak hands open. He almost draws his gun. Instead. Russia opens his arms. _Looks almost human._

No. He doesn't look almost human. America realises with a thrill of horror and awe. _He is human._

_At what price?_

With a knowing look sent his way, Russia - _call me Ivan when I call you Alfred_ \- steps to the precipice of his land, his country.

"May we meet again, Alfred. And may you be free as well when that time comes."

Ivan Braginski falls from a cliff.

\---

_Humpty Dumpty falls from a wall. No glues or tapes would be able to fix him back._

\---

Alfred F. Jones screams. But the nation America merely watches with cold detachment.

A country whose avatar is driven mad is. Useless. No less and no more.

\---

What happens after, is that Alfred sews Ivan back.

"We are nations," Russia gasps, closes his eyes. America just keeps threading needles through the other's pale flesh. "You can't kill me."

"I don't want to kill you," America answers, slowly, carefully, at odds with his careless treatment of Russia's open flesh.

"I want you to, right now."

America doesn't flinch at the breathy admission, doesn't back off, only continues to steadily sew Russia's skin into one whole, sealing he open wound with eerie detachment. He had been at war, after all. He knew of blood and loss and terrible, terrible agony.

He knew of no hope of those things ever ending, only fading, but leaving invisible marks.

He knew of cruelty. He knew how to use it well. He knew how to do so to fit his purpose.

"That would be too kind of me, wouldn't it?" When Russia never shows any mercy. Then again, America has never been one to go by empty words.

He sews a living, breathing bird inside Russia's heartless body, and pats the spot where Russia's heart is supposed to be gently.

"This. This is for rebirth."

Russia laughs, warm and rich and it's as if these few hours in which America literally rips Russia open is only a dream.

"You can be so poetic at times, dear Alfred." Alfred wants to crawl inside his laugh and sleep inside it forever.

_When your person part starts to fall in love with another nation, it is a bad thing._

But. But holding his hand over Ivan's heartless chest and feeling the fluttering of the bird inside his chest... Alfred finds he doesn't mind all that much. 


End file.
